


in the cradle of my unruly chest you belong

by milanosbitch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Hugs, LITERALLY, M/M, Parent Natasha Romanov, Parent Tony Stark, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, check in with your dentists kids, i love you boo, there’s tea, this goes for bezzy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milanosbitch/pseuds/milanosbitch
Summary: Irises that hide a stormy ocean in them do not shine quite completely as the sun sets down, yet again Keith finds them pulchritudinous.
Relationships: Keith Mishra/David Kurt Stark, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	in the cradle of my unruly chest you belong

The rattle of keys and a quiet grunt has always been his way of telling that he is home. Not that Keith cared scaring the crap out of the other boy, though it was better not to be attacked with whatever was within David's reach.

Keith grimaces as he shoots a look towards the pile of dishes towering up on the kitchen counter. Just the general messiness of their apartment pushes his nerves, yet he can't find the energy to fix the place immediately. What he does instead is to toss his tattered backpack —which had gained a peculiar grey hue over the years— on the wooden floor, wincing at the sound his laptop makes, and he pads into the main living area which is illuminated by the late evening sun. Stiff and weary after hours of sitting in the lecture hall, Keith grunts quietly as his back hits the couch. Fitting the said couch is quite a pipe dream, hence the boy makes himself comfortable with laying down anyway.

The sound of claws clattering are heard, and in seconds the giant Saint Bernard flops next to the floor beside him, boofing and demanding pets. "Hey, boy, I missed ya," Keith scratches the soft fur behind the dog's ears with his spare hand which isn't smashed between his chest and the couch like the other, and that earns him a happy, loud huff from the gentle giant. So he keeps his fingers there, mindlessly perpetuating to caress the warm, thick fur. It has taken Keith a while to calm his mind down, and to ease himself against the couch. The buzz of his previous classes, his inanity worries hadn't faded into the background as much as he wanted. He cannot simply shut his brain and that makes Keith uneasy. Even with the tranquility of his home, focusing is tough, tiresome.

As expected, minutes later, there is the hushed sound of socked feet upon the wooden floor, the tap running and the clank of the kettle, the presence of someone else; familiar.

_ David. _

"So, only missed Atlas, huh?" He doesn't dare to lift his head, only huffs through his nose, yet his chest is warm with a feeling he can't quite put a name on.

"Stop comparing yourself with our dog." Keith rasps in a low voice, ruffling Atlas's chest, the Saint Bernard happily pants, not having a care in the world. 

"Never." David has finally managed to turn the kettle on as Keith turns over to lay on his back. Atlas probably isn't too content with it, but he has drawn his now half-asleep hand back to place it under his head, blinking through this haze of tiredness that threatens to swallow him. And even without facing him, Keith can hear the smile in David's voice and that sends a soft rumble down his throat.

"Scoot over,  _ Red Paladin _ ." David mocks, with nothing but a slight tease behind his words that it's pretty much a dare. The nickname is something he had grown used to over the years, yet still slightly testing Keith's nerves on bad days. Without giving him time to respond or to act, the said boy also practically drapes himself over Keith, somehow managing not to crush him along the way so David's weight is half atop of him and half smashed into what little space is available on the couch. Keith puffs out a breath in surprise, nearly yelping.

"What? I'm simply taking the matter in my own hands since you have no intentions on showing me attention." His warm breath against Keith's neck makes the boy want to wriggle out and possibly kick him in the gut out of the nature of his bizarre tics. 

In lieu, wrapping an arm around David's torso to keep the boy from falling face down is what he does as David shifts to fit himself next to Keith, he ends up lifting his head from where it had been buried in Keith's neck to give him a half-lidded look, eyes filled with mischief. Irises that hide a stormy ocean in them do not shine quite completely as the sun nearly sets down, yet again Keith finds them  **_pulchritudinous_ ** .

Frustrated yet without real heat behind his actions, he pinches David's cheek with mild annoyance and lets his head fall back again. The other boy’s mumble sounds awfully similar to  _ ouch, my feelings _ and he has every intention of pinching him again, or giving him a solid shoulder. Both hear the click of the kettle, yet none of them dares to roll over, to get up. If David knows he'll whine and grumble once Keith hoists himself up on the couch and probably falls back, he doesn't comment on it.

Atlas has gotten up from his spot at some point after coming to a decision that his owners won't give him more belly rubs at any point in the near future, returning to his dog bed at the corner of the room to soak up in the last remains of the sun lazily.

"Dave?" that earns him a hum in response, "can I?" Keith scoots closer, taking Dave's hand which was previously smashed between them. Another hum, his hand covering Dave's. Their hands don't fit like puzzle pieces, he doesn't mind. David's skin has always been so fair that his knuckles seem crimson now in winter. Keith adores it when the other boy curls his fingers around his. He still brings their intertwined hands to his mouth to simply press his lips against David's knuckles, and doesn't dare to move them away. They make this work, an easy companionship, an unspoken thing that astounds him all the same after all of those years. 

After the Annihilation and the Resurrection, when David was falling apart Keith had amassed the shaking boy in his arms and didn't dare to move,  _ stars _ , his irises where so blurred, blank back then; they lacked every tone of ardently green that made Keith's legs go impotent. Albeit, the boy is here now, wrapped around Keith, his chest vibrating with his hushed giggles and as David presses his forehead to his, warm puffs of air fan over Keith's cheek.

His heart is a fragile little creature in his chest, his lungs and nose burn with unshod tears and  _ thank stars, he is safe, they’re both safe. _

It’s long after the water goes cold they stay on the couch, Keith’s leg is asleep to a degree that he fears he’ll collapse the second he tries getting up. Instead of him, David rises up to check on the kettle and start it again in hopes of actual tea, surprisingly without kicking him in the guts or anything. His hair looks akin to a lion's mane as he cards his fingers through the short curls, golden and unruly, that reminds Keith of David’s pride of lions, pernicious and carved from vibranium but still holding a softness to the giant machines features.

They end up making linden tea with an unhealthy amount of honey and lemon.

David knows how stupidly his hand will tremble after a cup of coffee and how he despises it. He knows he relishes claiming the left side of the bed, he draws the curtains when the night settles and closes their door because he knows Keith can't sleep otherwise. He gradually builds a tea collection just because his system refuses to abide coffee, he gives him those soft looks and he breathes and he smiles and simply exists beside him and something in Keith's chest  _ aches _ . It aches enough to leave him trembling. 

Troubled, young they are, yet not for once Keith doubts this, this fragile and gentle thing that's so uniquely theirs. He wraps it delicately under his rib cage, letting it flush and thrive safely.


End file.
